It's Quiet Uptown
by A Bean
Summary: Alexander had been in this position before. Redcoats had held guns to his head and he had not flinched. He had been willing to die for his country. Was he willing to die for his Eliza? (SUICIDE TW)


**_This story has a suicide trigger warning!_ Very heavy themes! Be careful and if you can't read it, don't force yourself to!**

**Anyway I wrote this to make you sad. Please enjoy**

* * *

They'd gone home after the funeral. The city seemed so dark now without the brightness of his son. Everywhere, there was a shadow of Phillip, a memory that lurked in the darkness, bringing pain if he thought about it too much.

Eliza had locked the door to their bedroom. Alexander wondered if his heart could take any more of being apart from her.

He went instead to his study and threw himself into his work, his writing, trying to keep the darkness of his own mind away. It might've been hours, days, minutes. Work was his solace, and with his mind focusing on his writing, he couldn't think about Phillip. The only thing that snapped him out of his writing was Eliza knocking on his door, asking to be let in.

Of course he didn't hesitate after he realized that she needed him, even if he pretended not to need her. He accepted her into his arms, and was glad that she could not see his face once he started crying silently.

"I miss him," she said softly, tears streaming down her face, her voice shaking.

"He is still with us, in our hearts," Alexander whispered back, hoping that even his small frame could provide her with any sort of comfort, even though he knew there would always be a hole in his heart, like he too had been shot just like Phillip.

They stood forever, and Eliza did not deem to pull away and Alexander did not let her go, nor did he want to. It had been too long since she had let him hold her, and he missed everything she was- the shape of her, her hands as they clutched at him, even the way she smelled.

"What might even possess him to enter a duel," she wondered aloud, "It is not his character to do such a thing."

"You are right," Alex murmured. "It began when George Eker slandered my name at our July Fourth celebration... Phillip saw unfit to let the matter go." He leaned against her, smelling her hair and reveling in the closeness and the ability to mourn with her. "I am afraid he is- _was_ too much like me in the years of my youth."

Eliza laughed bitterly. "Perhaps he heard the tale of how you and Laurens saw fit to duel Charles Lee for doing much of the same with the General." They swayed together a bit, and Alexander closed his eyes, relishing the fact that he was allowed to be with her again.

"Yes," Alexander said softly. "I regret, now, ever doing such a thing. I regret that I did not tell him to leave the matter." A mix of terrible emotions swelled up within him. It was his fault for Phillip's death- he could have just said not to go, but... his pride had gotten in the way and made him selfish yet again.

Eliza nodded, still content to merely be with him and think of their son. After a second, something seemed to click in her mind, and she held him so she might look into his eyes. "You knew about this duel?"

"I..." Alexander said uncertainly. "He came to me about it, yet I never thought he would..." he couldn't say the word. He didn't want to face it.

"He told you about this and you did not think to stop him from going?!" Eliza yelled, bewildered.

"It is not like I had the ability to stop him," Alex pleaded. "He was going to go with or without my help and blessing."

"You helped him?!" Eliza screeched, now rising from her chair. "You _helped_ him do this?"

"I- I didn't!" Alexander tried to tell her. "I gave him my guns- for _protection!"_

Eliza's eyes were red. Alexander felt shame crush on his weighing grief and he knew he would do anything to take his actions back. Things had been okay just a moment ago, and then he'd had to go and open his mouth, again.

"I cannot believe your actions," Eliza said, her voice now a broken, helpless whisper, and somehow that was worse than her yelling. "You killed him."

The whole world fell away as Eliza's lips spilled the words Alexander had buried the instant his son died, that he had killed his own son by not preventing his journey to New Jersey. And he knew she was right. It was his fault. His ears became deaf until only Eliza's words remained as she went on, fueled by anger and rage and loss.

"You killed him!" Eliza screamed again, her fist landing on Alexander's chest over and over again, and Alexander thought that this might only be a portion of the hurt she might be feeling. "You could have stopped this- you could have- you _killed_ him," she said again, finally, and Alexander only stood there as she raged and cried her grief away. Her stark confession left him empty, the words running around his mind over and over again.

And it made sense, didn't it? He could have stopped Phillip from going. Had Washington's reaction to his own duel with Charles Lee taught him nothing? That not everything had to be fought over, _fought_ for? He could have only said _no, son, my honor isn't worth your life_\- but his own pride and arrogance and desire to be right had overruled any rational thinking when he had sent his son to die for him. He was selfish, only cared about himself and his legacy.

And this would be another stain on his record. In the future, people would look back on him and see only his mistakes- him, selfish with desire and Maria Reynolds, and ultimately his selfishness causing him to send his own son to die for him.

"Eliza, Betsey, please- I'm sorry!" Alexander pleaded with her. For the first time in his life, words didn't work for him, and he was at a loss. Eliza's rage would not be calmed despite the fact that he clung to her like a lifeline, hoping against everything she could find it within herself to forgive him yet again.

Eliza paused, tears still flowing freely, her eyes betraying her furiousness as she broke free of his desperate embrace.

_"You,"_ she growled. "I will _never_ forgive you."

Something inside him broke and he knew with all certainty that she was not lying. He tried to curl his arms around her once more, to perhaps make it hurt less, to maybe return to the solidarity they had shared just minutes ago. But she was not lying, and his dear Eliza only spoke from her heart. He knew that his accumulated sins- unable to provide for her properly, the affair, Phillip- had built up within her and was now coming out like a burst dam.

"I'm sorry, my love," he choked through the sobs, falling to his knees as the foundation of his world was ripped away, as she walked away from him. "I'm _sorry_-"

She walked towards the door, leaving him feeling as if his whole heart had been ripped out. It was more- his heart ached, might have been about to stop if the pain got any greater. She half-turned to him; quiet, now.

"I don't want to see you again," Eliza said.

And she turned away- stone cold and farther away than she had ever been, even standing so close together.

She left.

Alexander crumpled to the floor. Devastation was the wrong word for what he was feeling. It was too small. The universe had just caved in on itself, spearing him- and he knew with every part of himself that he deserved it.

* * *

How Alexander found himself at Mount Vernon was impossible for him to say. His feet had carried him to where he needed to go, and he now stood to the entrance of the final resting place of General George Washington. He had no idea how long he'd been standing outside the door to the chamber, but he mustered enough energy to look at the watch on his left wrist.

It was two hours past midnight, now. Eliza would be resting.

A fresh wave of tears built up in his eyes. Thinking of her was too much.

"I need you," Alexander whimpered in the cold night, speaking to Washington's grave. It was silent and stony. He was alone, helpless, and the one man who might have found his actions forgivable was dead. "If I throw away my shot… Is this how they will remember me?"

"Would he come back? Would you send him back to her?" He lay a hand on the ornate marble. "Please," he whispered, "If you're listening… please… send him back to her." He gave a tiny sob. "If I could spare his life- if I could just trade his life for mine…" he closed his eyes. "That would be enough."

He was met with the silence of death.

Not that he expected anything different.

* * *

For the first time since leaving Nevis, Alexander was grateful for the waters that surrounded the island of New York. His feet dangled above dangerous, dark water rushing below him as he sat on the edge of a bridge. The fog curled around him, and the town surrounding him did not stir. It may be New York, but there was nobody awake now, being a still-budding city as it was.

Here, he could be alone with his son.

_Phillip_, he thought, _I'll be with you soon_. The gun sat beside him, grey gleaming in the moonlight and faint lights of the city.

He looked to the bridge, across to New Jersey, where he'd fought in more battles than he could count. Alexander had admittedly had the time of his life through them.

He'd lived his life enough, then; the thrills and victories of finally winning independence for his beloved nation were more than enough to last him forever.

He looked left, towards Yorktown, and thought of how he'd felt when the Brits had finally surrendered- pure, unending, unadulterated joy that he could finally stop fighting and watch his son grow, that he could spend every waking hour with-

Eliza.

He thought of her. He was not angry with her, nor bitter or any kind of emotion other than still the pure, unending love for her despite the amount of times he had betrayed her. He was still utterly in love with her, and felt that each moment he was around her that he was learning to live his life anew.

And she did not want him.

It was fair, he thought, that a man such as himself would not be worthy of the delightful love Eliza gave to him, but he was so, _so_ glad he had been able to experience it, even for a short time. He was at peace with her. She would not need trouble herself with him again after this night.

He looked over the entire city that he had had the privilege to call his home for many years of his life; one he had bled and fought for with the thought of finally perhaps being able to make his own legacy.

And that he might be able to make a better nation for his children.

_You'll come of age with our young nation_, he recalled telling his young, freckle-faced boy as he studied with his governess._ You're going to blow us all away, someday._

Bitterly, his mind turned to his war days again. He thought of his mistakes- how he'd pestered Washington to let him be greater, to rise above his station, and the repeated dismissal that came until Lafayette had stepped in for him. Maybe Washington knew how it would end for him, even back then. Maybe he'd known that he'd become obsessed with himself, with his legacy, with what the world thought of him.

Alexander wouldn't have been surprised. Washington had always seemed to know everything despite how much effort Alexander had always put in to hide certain things from him.

He thought, fleetingly, as he stared at the cold metal of his gun, what would have happened if the former president had been alive, what it might have been like to visit his old friend before he'd come here. He was glad the general was not there to stop him.

He turned the gun over and feeling the metal warm in his hands. Washington _would_ have talked him out of it, and probably would have made Alexander get on his feet again before he could make any irrational decisions.

He didn't need rationality. Eliza had said what she said. And Alexander had made enough mistakes in his life, anyway. Nobody needed him around to make more.

He sobbed again, the thought that not even his beloved Eliza needed him anymore piercing his tender heart yet again, tears spilling over as he pointed the barrel of the gun at his temple, finger not yet resting on the trigger.

He'd been in this position before. Redcoats had held guns to his head and he had not flinched. He had been willing to die for his country.

Was he willing to die for his Eliza?

He looked out at the water again. It was calm. Dark.

He wanted to feel peace again. The wrenching feeling in his chest made him ache all over, a hole in his very being that felt like it could never close. He was being torn in two, feeling it all and it hurt so much that he was ready for death.

_I imagine death so much it feels more like a memory…_

Alexander lifted his eyes to Heaven. _If you're really out there, God,_ he pleaded, _take me in the place of my son. Make Eliza happy._

He cried harder, thinking of the last words she'd said to him. _"I don't want to see you again."_ His body would fall into the water once it was lifeless. He'd made sure of it.

He'd debated on writing her a letter, but had instead opted to leave it in the post-box of Aaron Burr, so he might know to tell Eliza what had happened, and to ask her if she was happy that Alexander had not bothered her in his last moments of life. Burr would know what to do. He had always been reliable like that. Burr would be Hamilton's legacy.

_Legacy_. "What is a legacy?" He whispered aloud to himself, barely able to hear himself over the roaring waters below him. "…it's planting seeds in a garden you never get to see. I'm not sure I have a legacy."

His gun gleamed in the street-lights, cold and hard and impassive as it needed to be in order to take a life.

His finger found the trigger at last.

"Eliza," Alexander whispered, broken. "I love you, my dear."

He closed his eyes after one final scan of his beloved New York.

"Best of wives and best of women-"

He cocked it.

"I love you."

* * *

Hamilton's body was found the next morning in the Hudson.


End file.
